


Short And Sweet

by susiephalange



Category: The Maze Runner Series - All Media Types
Genre: F/M, Fluff, Gally is stubborn, Name-Calling, Short!Reader
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-05-19
Updated: 2016-05-19
Packaged: 2018-06-09 11:58:52
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,601
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6905335
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/susiephalange/pseuds/susiephalange
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>After a while of being on the end of Gally's taunts and tricks, the Reader is sick of being a joke in the eyes of the taller Glader, and does something about it.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Short And Sweet

**Author's Note:**

> I noticed there wasn't enough Gally stories! He's my favourite. I hope you enjoy!

"Hey there little mama, could you pass me the wrench?"

You turned from the conversation you had been listening to between Alby and Zart the side of to see Gally motioning to you.

You frowned your most unimpressed frown. Gally was constantly making mean and unnecessary comments about your height; almost going out of his way to make you feel more diminutive than anyone else.

Well, truth be told, you were the shortest in the Glade.

Well, you were taller than Chuck. Just taller. By a little bit. It was only because of his cute curls that made you smaller. You couldn't be mad at Chuck's hair, though. Just Gally.

"Why?" You hummed, annoyed.

It was like that was all Gally could do; make you feel sad inside about what couldn't be changed about you.

"I'm a builder, I need the wrench for this bolt," he motions to the side of the Homestead, where he was working on an improved door for the Gladers. Ever since Thomas barged in one dinner painted up as a Greiver with Minho and Theresa and had broken the previous ones, it was a priority. "You're closest to the wrench, and not doing anything too important, so..." He grinned awkwardly, raising his scary eyebrows theatrically, "I mean, if you can pass it. You're like a doll!"

"Doll, my klunk!" You harrumphed. "I'm tall enough -," you turned to where the wrench was, and noted how tall the work bench was. What was the maze, a Glade for giants? "C'mon - hey!"

Gally had crossed over in front of you, and reaching over your head, gripped the wrench in his bear-like hands.

"Not fair," you sighed, glancing around for your box.

When you had come up in the Box after Teresa - hardly surprising anyone, they were used to the out of the ordinary by then - the issue of your height had become aware in the Glade. After Alby had made it clear you needed a crate to stand on for most tasks - especially with your track-hoe job, to reach the tops of the vines - Frypan had given you an old food supplies box to tote around.

"Looking for this?"

You turned, and almost groaned in desperation. Held above your head in his ungodly strong arms was your box - just out of reach. If you were going to finish your track-hoe duties for the day, you needed that box.

"I'm not going to beg, Gally," you bit your lip to stop it quivering. "...please give me the box. It's mine."

He grinned. "C'mon, ________, it's not that high. Why don't you jump, shorty?"

Just as you were about to, Alby's voice intervened, snatching the box from Gally. "Why don't you leave ______ alone, Gally." the leader intoned.

The Keeper of the Builders chuckled, crossing his arms. As annoying as he was, he was undeniably scary, powerful, ruthless. "What, and shucking pick on someone my own size?" He laughed. "Greenbean here is as good to us as a baby. She's a pile of klunk and..."

You zoned out, feeling a fury heat your face and warm your belly with the sweet sensation of unbridled anger.

"Alby?" You whispered, pointing to your stool, "May I?"

Gally was still ranting about your uselessness by the time you'd climbed onto your box, and were standing at his height, staring into his eyes.

"Shuck you!" You gritted out, and slapped his face. "Yeah, I'm small, but I'm okay with it. Until you start making me feel like a pile of steaming klunk! Everyone else likes me for who I am. What's your shucking problem?"

The tallest Glader was silent, the red print of your small hand becoming more apparent with every second passing.

The Glade stilled.

You climbed from your stool. And gathering it in your smarting hands, ran off toward the Watchtower. 

 

 

Frypan had called dinner, and Newt counted the Gladers eating Surprise Soup ("What's the surprise?" "Don't question my cooking, boy!"). But the blonde haired boy frowned. There were two missing. ________, his best worker in his Trackhoes, and...Gally?

"Alby? Have you seen ________?"

Newt called to his leader, a tone of apprehension clearly filling his voice like poison seeping into a pristine waterhole. Newt wasn't stupid. He could do math - the math; if ______ was gone, and so was Gally, and the last they'd seen of either of them had been the event in which you'd slapped him, Newt could only guess -

"Gally'll flatten ______ like a pancake! We gotta go find them before its too late!" Alby screeched.

Soon enough, Newt, Alby, Zart and a tag-along Thomas were on their way to save your short ass. 

 

 

It was quiet on top of the Watchtower. The stars were out. The moon was big like a rice cake (or bowl of milk, you couldn't decide on what it really looked like) and you could hear an echo of the crickets from down in the Glade.

The sun had set, along with your anger for the not-so-gentle giant Gally, Keeper of the Builders. Maybe it was because you weren't tall enough to have enough space to keep a grudge, or that look he gave you - after your hand marked his skin - when you ran off.

You hadn't seen anyone for hours.

You hadn't eaten for hours.

You'd get down from the Watchtower to sneak into Frypan's domain for leftovers, if there wasn't a possibility of being found by Gally and being lynched or Alby and being locked up for the night for un-Glader-like behaviour.

"I can't help being my size," you tell the rice cake shaped moon.

Not that the moon can hear you or care - after all, this world isn't a wish-granting factory, it's one where teenagers are stuck in a maze - but it seems right to talk to the moon. Unbidden, a tear falls into the planks of the upper Watchtower.

"'m just me. And I happen to be short."

You don't know who's listening, though. From the higher steps of the Watchtower, the cause of your misery, the one who you believed to think you no more than a stone in his boot, listened.

It had only started as a joke.

You had came. Made an impression, became a trackhoe and won over half the Glade with your great laugh and greater ability to make those around you feel at peace with your humour and disposition. Gally, was as usual, himself. Thinking only of what came in that moment, saying it and acting it out before an assessment of the outcome.

He hadn't realised he like you until one night after a bonfire, and a taunt about your height that led to a rainstorm of tears and a week of silence between you. He lay in his hammock that night, thinking, and it has hit him. Harder than a falling beam in a building project to the head (he knew how that felt like): that he thought you were adorable. Beautiful. Kind. Caring.

And he'd screwed it up.

Gally watched you from the top rung of the Watchtower ladder, torn inside and out. He was a stubborn one. He had kept on the act of hating your size to keep talking with you daily. And in front of him, were the consequences.

"I can't help it!" You sniff, a sob following the tears. "...why am I so upset? He's the slinthead who made me feel this bad." You tell the moon, as if it's an old friend who knows how weird and unpredictable boys are. "I'm going to tell him to shuck off."

Gally froze as you moved to stand. If he was there, you'd find him and accuse him of eavesdropping, and then Newt and Alby would have something more to say.

Too quick, he went to move down.

Too quick, your movement shook the Watchtower a little.

You hear a loud thump from nearby, and frown. In the dark of the night, you can't see much, but moving to where you heard it - only to see Gally, lying on his back.

"Hey Baby Bear," he croaks loud enough for you to hear. "What's up?"

A hiccup of a chuckle erupts from inside. All of that anger, that grief the same boy who's lying like a pancake on the grass of the Glade has caused you evaporates, and suddenly, you're laughing, breathlessly and completely until your entire body is racked with this convulsion of euphoria at the stupidity of Gally.

"_________? Gally!" You hear Alby call out, followed by Newt's echo.

Too quick, you jerk up to see if they've found the pair of you. Too quick, a plank of wood slips, and then you feel what it's like to be a bird whose wings do not work.

You hit Gally's frame with a large thunk! - at the same time you see Newt and Alby's faces shadowed by the torch they hold.  
"_______? Are you alright?" Newt asks. He then notices your body is on top of another; a body firm with muscles and strung with power. "Gally! What's happening here?"

From his already winded state and your breathlessness from that laughter, the pair of you can't say a word. 

Since then, about two months later, you've said many words to each other. In agony over what pain he caused you, in adoration for what love he showed you, in humour for what Gally-ness Gally had for everything that wasn't in order. And now with a shack of your own, you don't have to worry about Newt, Alby and the other Gladers seeing you like that, atop each other.

**Author's Note:**

> If you have any requests, find me on Tumblr at @susiephalange, or [@phalangewrites](https://phalangewrites.tumblr.com/request_conditions) ʕ·ᴥ·ʔ✿


End file.
